


You Have to Mean It

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Negan/OC fics [19]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Jailbird Negan, prison Negan, slight romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 03:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15306327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Part of the Raise Hell canon, Negan is working to make amends as much as he can. He owes it to his family – he owes it to himself.





	You Have to Mean It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Asshatry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asshatry/gifts).



For the next couple of days, Negan was convinced that he had made Abby and Charlotte up. The only thing that proved otherwise was the photograph. Half of the time, he couldn’t bare to look at it and shoved it under his pillow, guilt swallowing him whole. Other times, he never put it down. It seemed unreal and Abby looked exactly like he always liked to imagine. She favored Amy so much – Elle would’ve thought she was beautiful. She would’ve cried.

Negan stopped himself before he could wander too far into his imagination again. He’d been lucky that with Rick and the other Alexandrians interacting with him he didn’t see ghosts. Sometimes he wondered if his ghosts would be better company. Lucille, Elle, so many others. With a sigh, Negan rolled over his in too-small-cot and faced the wall. It was starting to get hot again in the cell. He’d have to ask Rick if he could have a change from these winter sheets.

Like clockwork, Negan sat up in preparation for dinner time, patiently sitting at the end of his bed. The lights switched on and there were footsteps on the stairs – even footsteps, so not Rick’s – and when Negan tiredly looked up it was Carl standing there with his sheriff’s hat, long hair pulled back into a clean ponytail, and those weird eyepatch-looking glasses, holding Negan’s plate of dinner with a bored expression on his face.

“Heya kiddo. What’s the fucking special for today?” Out of all the people who watched Negan – which weren’t very many to begin with, especially since Rick was mainly the one who took responsibility for Negan – Carl was surprisingly the kindest, even though Carl was also the one to make it clear that out of everyone who watched Negan, Carl still wanted to kill him. But Negan appreciated his honesty, and it’s not like he had much of a choice, so he let it go.

“My dad made spaghetti.” Carl passed him the plate and then went to sit down and wait for Negan to finish.

"Spaghetti! Is it half as fucking good as mine?”

Carl rolled his eye. “No. You know Dad can’t cook.”

Slurping the overcooked noodles, Negan muttered, “Yeah, don’t I fucking know it.” In between hungry bites, he chatted around his mouthfuls of pasta, “Man, what I wouldn’t give to have some goddamn garlic in this. Or a cold beer. Or BLTs…” He trailed off, not that hungry anymore.

There was a moment of tense silence where Negan stared off into space sadly and Carl awkwardly shifted. “Come on, Negan. I know my dad’s cooking isn’t that bad. Hurry up and finish.”

Mildly abashed, Negan ate his dinner with less enthusiasm than before. “Where do you gotta be in such a fucking hurry? Big date with Edith?”

“Enid – and it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Of course it fucking isn’t.” Half-heartedly pushing the noodles through the orangey-red sauce, Negan sighed, “You really like her, huh?”

"I don’t want to talk about that with you.”

“Kid, listen. I know I’m probably not the best fucking example of romance from, uh, what you saw from me. But listen. If she matters, just do right by her, okay? Do the right thing.”

As if seeing Negan for the first time, Carl narrowed his one eye at him cynically. Without any heat, he said, “Just shut up and eat your spaghetti.”

Dropping his eyes back down to his plate, Negan dutifully ate and tried not to think. All his thoughts kept going back to Abby and Charlotte, though, and he just couldn’t let it go. He had to know.

“Hey, uh, Carl?”

"What is it, Negan?”

“Do you…” Negan felt so awkward now, as if he were asking things he shouldn’t be asking. “Do you know a little girl named Abby? She’s redheaded? Small? Four years old?”

When Carl tilted his head, he looked exactly like Rick when he did it. Thankfully, they sounded nothing alike because Carl was very forthcoming. “She came down here, didn’t she?”

Hopeful for the first time in a long time, Negan eagerly nodded. “A couple of days ago, I think. I’m not sure; the days blend together down here.”

"I guess she didn’t tell anybody she came down because none of us heard about it.”

“Charlotte knew,” Negan mumbled sadly, “She caught her down here, and said I shouldn’t talk to her again.”

“Probably,” Carl agreed.

Shooting Carl a nasty look, Negan twirled pasta around his plastic fork. They still didn’t trust him with real silverware; it was almost flattering. Well, they were probably more worried that Negan might try to hurt himself rather than hurt anyone else. Negan wasn’t sure if he should take comfort in that. “Do you know what Charlotte and Abby mean to me?”

“My dad went to Doveport about three years ago looking for them because you asked. We started trading with them; they were doing pretty well. Dad couldn’t convince Charlotte to move here after he told her that you were our prisoner.”

Sharply, Negan looked up and corrected, “Abby told me that she lives here.”

"Well, she does now.” Carl sounded a little annoyed.

Ice formed in Negan’s stomach until his spaghetti felt like a glacier. “Charlotte also mentioned something about it becoming a school?”

“That’s the idea. There’s this garden lady named Vivienne who’s helping over there now. She travels back and forth between here, there, the Sanctuary, and the Hilltop to help with the plants. She’s good.”

At the familiar name, Negan was comforted that she was not dead. One of the few. “Yeah, she was. I remember her.”

Carl made a face at Negan’s funny voice but continued anyway, “Charlotte ended up coming to Alexandria the winter before last when Abby got sick. Doveport doesn’t have a doctor, but we do.”

“Siddhartha, right?” Negan tried to remember the young man who sewed his throat shut, his fingers creeping up now to curiously run over the ropey texture of his scar. Elle wouldn’t have minded the scar at all. It would’ve made them twins.

"Siddiq.”

“Sorry.”

“Whatever.”

"What was wrong with Abby?”

As eloquent as all teenagers are, Carl shrugged. “She had a cold, the flu, pneumonia. Doesn’t matter. She got better and she’s fine now. But Charlotte decided that after that incident, she’d rather stay here since there’s a doctor.”

Softly, Negan hummed. “Smart move to do that when you have kids.”

“Yeah,” Carl agreed flatly and with disinterest. “You gonna finish your spaghetti or what? ‘Cause I really gotta go.”

Slurping down the rest of the noodles quickly, Negan passed Carl back the empty plate. “Wait!”

“What?”

“I,” Negan hesitated. He didn’t know why he started this, but he felt like he had to. “I have something I want to show you, but please don’t tell your dad. He’ll just fucking take it away.”

Skeptical, Carl lingered by the bars uneasily. “What is it?”

Reaching under his pillow, Negan was relieved that the picture was real and not hallucinated. Eagerly, he showed it to Carl. “What do you see?”

“I see…you. And a bunch of other people. Like Vivienne! You guys are happy.” Carl sounded surprised and leaned forward to inspect it closer with his one good eye. “That baby…that’s Abby. It must be. She looks just like that woman in the pink dress now.” Blinking rapidly, Carl looked back up at Negan. “Was this your family?”

"Sort’ve.” Negan pulled the picture back inside the bars, fully confident that he wasn’t crazy.

“Charlotte told us what you did, but she didn’t tell us everything. She just said you killed her brother, and that you were responsible for a lot of people dying.” Carl squinted suspiciously at Negan. “I can believe it, but is it true?”

Retreating back to his bed, away from the harsh truth, Negan cradled the picture in the palms of his hands. “Yes. And I’m sorry.”

Disbelieving, Carl hummed. “Who was the girl? The one with the scars?”

"She… I loved her. She’s dead.”

“Was she Lucille?” Carl boldly asked.

Negan’s bodily reaction was to coil tighter as if expecting to be beaten. “No…her name was Elle. We didn’t meet until after.”

“She become one of your wives?”

“No. She said no.”

Shifting from foot to foot, Carl stopped asking questions. “She was pretty.”

“Yeah,” Negan’s eyes lingered on the photograph as he tucked it back under his pillow. “Beautiful. Smart. Kind. Dangerous. Forgiving.” Turning back to Carl again, Negan sighed. “Carl? I’m really sorry for what I said about your eye. And, you know, all the other fucking bullshit.”

Straightening his spine, Carl turned his back as he trudged up the stairs again. “That doesn’t matter, Negan. I still want to kill you.”

* * *

 

That night, Negan dreamed of Elle, of living in suburbia with her and a little rug-rat of their own. It was a girl, and she had Elle’s eyes, and she was best friends with Abby and Judith.

The next morning, he was groggily woken up when Rick stomped down with his breakfast of eggs, burnt toast, apple, and cup of water. At first, Negan was afraid that Carl told on him and Rick was going to find the photo and snatch it away, but as it is, Rick’s stomping was because of how stiff his leg was. It was raining outside. That explained why Negan slept so hard.

Still drowsy and cautious, Negan stayed quiet and ate quickly, passing it off as hunger. Rick didn’t seem to mind as he was impatient to leave and continue with his chores. Soon, Negan was alone again, and he pulled out the photograph.

He had hardly settled on his back to stare at the little picture when he heard the door squeak open again. Panicking, he shoved the photo in his pillow case and ran to the bars, expecting Rick to claim he caught him. The footsteps were all wrong, though, even and small pattering. Hope sprang in Negan’s chest and he pressed his face between the bars, listening intently.

Muddy rainboots appeared with green frog faces stamped on a pink background. Then overalls, then a yellow shirt, and then Abby’s cherub face framed with sodden curly locks of flaming red hair. “Hi!” She chirped and climbed the rest of the way down.

Taking a step back, Negan looked her over and saw a child that clearly had been playing in the rain. “Hey, Poptart. What are you doing here so early? I wasn’t expecting to see you again.” He glanced back at the top of the stairs a little nervously. “Charlotte with you?”

Pushing her damp hair out of her eyes, Abby puffed. “She doesn’t know I’m here. Don’t tell her, ‘kay?”

“Abby,” Negan lightly admonished, secretly amused at her troublemaking, “where are you supposed to be, little girl?”

“Home, but I wanted to give you this.” Stepping up to the bars, she reached in the pocket of her overalls and then held out her hand to him. When she opened her little fist, there sitting innocuously on her palm, looking a little crumpled, was a rose bud in bloom. Negan stared at it dumbly before looking back at her.

Abby huffed again. “It’s a flower, silly. You ever seen one before?” She shook her hand, urging him to take it, and Negan gently lifted it from her palm to cradle it in his owns, keeping the petals from fluttering free. “I took it from Ms. Jenkin’s garden. She won’t miss it. The flowers always wash away after it rains.”

Again, Negan blinked at her curiously before he looked back at the rose bud. Unbidden, a memory swam up –

_"Babe,” Negan crooned, nuzzling his nose against Elle’s neck before he spun her around and kissed her. “I got you a little something.”_

_"Bacon?” Elle hopefully surmised, her delicate fingertips playing with the zipper of his jacket. This was after Caleb, and since she had been spending more time outside, her scars were a little starker and silver against her skin. Beautiful all the same._

_"More like pork sausage,” Negan teased, rocking his burgeoning erection against her hip as he led her inside to her room._

_Elle swatted his hands away, pulling herself free, but still tossing a flirtatious smile over her shoulder. “That’s a little generous, huh, Negan?”_

_"Aw, babe, you hurt my goddamn feelings.” Negan pouted at her and once again pulled her in his arms. She allowed it, leaning against him happily, smiling so brightly, her eyes sparkling. Just. Perfect. “You gonna kiss it better?”_

_"Maybe.”_

_Negan kissed her cheek and then pulled away. “But I do have a present for you, babe. Guess what it is.”_

_"Didn’t I already do that?”_

_"Hm, fair enough.” Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, Negan pulled out a rose and offered it to her. “It’s a little more romantic than medical supplies, so I figured it would be a nice change of fucking pace, you know?”_

_She threw her arms around his neck and hopped into his arms. The rose died within three days, but it was a good time together._

Blinking again, Negan saw Abby staring up at him patiently, her clothes dripping on the floor around her boots. “Thank you so much, Poptart.” He smiled at her softly, and she mirrored it, looking very pleased with herself.

“As much as I’d love the company, you better head home now.”

Just like that, Negan snuffed her light out, and Abby’s shoulders sagged.

“Wait,” he called out. She looked at him curiously as he checked out his little window. It was raining steadily. Turning back to her, Negan said, “How about we wait for the rain to clear up before you go home? Can’t have you catching a cold.”

“Yeah. I like the rain.”

“Me, too, kiddo. But what about mud pies? You ever make one of those?”

They talked softly, Negan listening for a change in the rain or sounds of people looking for her or visiting him. Their chat ended with the rain, and though it wasn’t very long, Negan felt like his heart was lighter when she left.

* * *

 

Negan waited on pins and needles to see her again, and he spent most of his time tracing his fingertips over the velvet texture of the rosebud until it withered away and staring at the photograph, memorizing every detail. He started thinking more and more about Elle and how she had been adamant that he change. Now more than ever he wanted out of the cell so that he could see Abby grow. It wasn’t enough to just have visits, he wanted to see everything firsthand than to just catch snippets from her, Charlotte, and Carl if he could convince him. But Negan wasn’t sure what he could do. Escape wasn’t an option; so, what other option was there?

* * *

 

His next visit from Abby was supervised by Charlotte a little less than a week later by his count. By then the rain had come and gone, and Abby had traded her rainboots for tiny sneakers again. This time when she confidently walked up to his cell, her arms were full of an old, gray tabby. “Hi. This is Derek! Remember when I told you about my kitty?”

Negan chanced a glance at Charlotte and saw her sitting on the stairs, just watching. He looked back at the cat in Abby’s arm, ears flattened in annoyance, but otherwise tolerating her over-eager squeeze. “He’s beautiful. A little old to be a kitty, though.”

Her little mouth dropped open, aghast that Negan would say that about Derek. “You’re never too old to be a kitty.”

Chuckling softly, Negan held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Poptart.”

"Do you wanna pet him?” Abby shifted the weight of the cat and stepped closer to Negan. “You can hold him if you want. He likes to be held.”

Again, his gaze flickered to Charlotte, but she maintained her passive expression. “Alright, Poptart.” Reaching through the bars, Negan first ran his fingertips over Derek’s head, softly scratching behind his ears. The cat purred, and then Negan was passed the cat that was thin enough to slide through the bars. Negan marveled that it had survived for so long because it had obviously had been with people once. Derek curled right up in the crook of his elbow, happy for steadier hands to handle him.

“See?” Abby smiled encouragingly. “Derek likes you!”

“Yeah, I wished he had,” Negan mumbled, softly rocking the old cat and stroking his hand over his flank. “I never was much of a cat person – I grew up with a puppy – but I love animals all the same.”

"I wish I had a puppy,” Abby sighed. “But we can’t find one.” Then she brightened, “But Derek found me, and that’s good enough.”

Negan found himself pressing a kiss to the top of Derek’s head, happier now than he had been in a long, long time. “Pets can be a lot of responsibility, Abby, but I think Derek is a good fit for you.”

She preened under his praise, and then Charlotte stood up. “Alright, Abby. We’ve spent enough time down here. Get Derek and let’s go.”

“Aw, can’t we just stay a little longer?” Abby wheedled, her little hands clasped in front of her chin.

“No, Abby. I got to go home and make dinner.” Holding out her hand to Abby, Charlotte urged, “Come on, let’s go.”

“Hey, it’s alright, Poptart. Come and see me another time, huh?” Negan set the cat on the floor and it immediately prowled over to Charlotte and twined around her boots until she scooped it up under her arm.

“You’re…pretty close to Derek, huh?” Negan asked, and though the question was posed casually in front of Abby, both Charlotte and Negan knew what he was really asking.

Holding the cat to her chest protectively, Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him. Her voice was level, but tense when she replied, “He was the only family I had left. I lost everyone – everything – except him.” Charlotte’s gaze flickered to Abby, who was watching them with a frown of confusion. “And then him,” Charlotte softly finished, looking back at Negan with her cold eyes.

“I…Elle told me. I think. I’m…I wish I could say I was sorry, but he tried to kill me – he tried to kill her.”

“We didn’t start this!” Charlotte’s eyes blazed and she stepped closer and would’ve pointed a finger if she wasn’t holding the cat. “You did it, and I’ll never forgive you.”

Protected by the bars of his cell, Negan didn’t shy away. He gazed at Charlotte sadly for a moment, and then looked at briefly at Abby. When he looked back at Charlotte, he suddenly remembered what Elle had said.

_“Charlotte was a mother. We took away… the last of her family. Abby lost her family, too…”_

Negan was more than familiar with what it was like to have your world tipped over and pulled out from under your feet. He has lost everything – in the beginning with Lucille, again with Elle, and now when he shoved in a hole in the ground to rot. But every time he has lost, every time he has hit rock bottom, he found a way to bounce back and claw his way back up to the top and find his happiness again. Charlotte did with Abby, and now, it was Negan’s turn. There was still a chance for him to make it right and have a family again.

Collecting herself, Charlotte turned to Abby and held out her hand again. Abby took Charlotte’s hand and waved goodbye to Negan with the other as she was led up the stairs.

Staring after them, Negan called, “Don’t worry, Poptart. I’ll always be here for you.”

* * *

 

The next time Rick came to feed him, Negan was ready. Instead of giving him the silent treatment or insulting his cooking when he passed him the plate of half-burnt meatloaf and lumpy mash potatoes, Negan was polite. “Thank you, Rick,” he murmured quietly, and ate in silence. The meatloaf wasn’t that actually, just the top was burned, and the lumps of potatoes could’ve been worse that what they were.

He waited until Rick sat down to wait before he started talking. “Rough day, huh, Rick?”

Sighing, Rick rubbed his knee. “What do you want, Negan?”

“How did you fucking know I was gonna ask for something?”

"Carl doesn’t say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ unless he wants somethin’ from me, too. Usually a trip to the Hilltop to see Enid.” Rick leveled him with a stare. “So, what do you want? Extra blankets?”

Shifting on his bed, Negan was half tempted to take up that offer. “You’d give me extra blankets if I asked?”

“Is that what you want?” Rick prompted.

“No.”

"Then what do you want, Negan? Don’t waste my time.”

“Fuck, um.” Negan took a bite and used the time he took to chew and swallow to think over again how to ask. “I… I was wondering when the fuck am I do to be released.”

Negan didn’t know it was possible for Rick to frown even more than he already was. It was a look of confusion, though, and maybe one of disappointment. “Never, Negan. You know this.”

“But Rick, wait, here me the fuck out! I’ve never tried to escape and I haven’t hurt a single fucking one of you since I’ve been here. Hell, I’ve had plenty of opportunities and with that fucky leg of yours, it would be just too damn easy to have you bent over the bed so I can fist your goddamn balloon knot, Papaw.” Rick glowered and Negan rushed before Rick could interrupt him. “But I haven’t! I’ve been fucking good. Doesn’t that deserve something?”

"Actin’ with basic human decency does not mean you deserve to be awarded.” Rick sat back in his chair, hands propped on the head of his cane between his outstretch legs.

“Uh, yes the fuck it does, Rick. Once I’m rehabilitated, I’m fucking released. That’s how prison works.”

“When you kill people,” Rick patiently – condescendingly – explained as though talking to a child, “you get life in prison.”

“Riiick,” Negan wheedled, “who hasn’t fucking killed anybody in this brand, new world? I don’t recall your hands being squeaky fucking clean.” He saw Rick’s face darken again, and Negan rapidly backpedaled. “Rick, just think logically here. Why the fuck would I fuck up if you let me out? If I run away, everyone would hunt me down to kill me. If I stay and hurt someone, you’ll punish me again. Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?”

With a snort, Rick turned his head to the side. Negan watched him closely, and he could see that Rick was actually considering it. Progress. But then Rick turned back and asked dryly, “You ever hear this Aesop fable… about the scorpion and the frog?”

Stirring his spoon in his mash potatoes, Negan smeared them over the plate and the burnt parts of the meatloaf. “No, but it sounds kinda badass. Why don’t you tell it to me, Papaw?” He took another bite.

Tilting his head, Rick started, “A frog hops up to its pond, and on the bank, there is a scorpion. The scorpion asks for passage across the pond on the frog’s back, and the frog hesitates, cautious. The frog asks, ‘How do I know you won’t sting me?’ To which the scorpion replies, ‘We’d both drown if I did that.’ So, the frog gives in, being nice and all, and carries the scorpion on its back across the pond. Halfway there, the scorpion stings the frog – and they both start to sink. With its dying breath, the frog croaks, ‘Why did you do that?’ But the scorpion only says, ‘It’s my nature.’ And then they both drown anyway.”

Narrowing his eyes, Negan stared at Rick who only stared back with a face of mock sympathy. “Jesus, Rick…are these the kind of fucking bedtime stories you tell little Judith?”

“Finish your dinner, Negan.”

"You know what, Rick,” Negan put his plate to the side and leaned forward, hands gripping the fabric of his pants on his knees. “Somebody told me once that if I say I’m sorry, that I deserve to be let out.”

Luckily, Rick didn’t examine that statement too closely. He just stood and expectantly held out his hand for Negan’s dinner tray. Without complaint, he passed it over, and Rick turned to leave. “Whoever told you that, Negan, I hope they also told you that when you do finally say you’re sorry, you have to mean it.”


End file.
